Resurrected
by Koneko713
Summary: As a young ranger-in-training Bravania fell head over heels for her ranger-general.  Now, seven years after the Scourge destroyed Quel'thalas, Nia is discovering that not everything was as it seemed.  FemSlash
1. Death

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sylvanas, but obviously I don't. Even so, my character Nia can have some fun with her.**

Bravania heaved a sigh as the gargoyle slumped to the ground, riddled with arrows. One foot was nearly severed at the ankle, the work of her lynx, Windrunner. The cat trotted back to her now, looking bored. She scratched behind his ears, lost in thought.

As always, she felt nothing. No triumph, no relief, nothing but slight regret that she had yet to meet her match. She blinked, and ground her fists into her eyes. When she took her hands away from her face there were wet streaks on her leather gloves.

She glared at the muddied spots. Of course she'd be a little fragile on this assignment. It should have been a pretty straight forward mission: clear out some of the Scourge around Windrunner Spire. What self-respecting huntress would turn down such easy duty because of a few bad memories?

At that point Windrunner tired of his mistress's inertia and shoved at the back of her knees with his cold, wet nose. Nia lurched forward, turning to scowl at her pet. Typical cat, he responded with an affronted look and twisted around to groom his tail.

The blood elf ran a hand through her tangled black hair and padded over to the gargoyle's corpse. It may well have been carrying something of value, since it was part of a group that had ransacked an estate as ancient as the Windrunners'. She scanned it quickly, noting a glitter around one upper arm. She bent and heaved the creature over onto its back.

A blue gem shimmered on a slim silver chain, twisted around the gargoyle's stony-skinned bicep. Distastefully, Nia extended the arm in question and gently worked the jewelry down and off. She sat back with a little smile to inspect her prize. When she turned it to and fro the jewel caught the light wonderfully. Turning it over to check the silver backing, she felt her heart skip a beat.

There was an engraving, and the words on it sent her reeling to her feet in shock. "To Sylvanas. Love always, Alleria." Nia stood rigid, shaking, for a long moment before crumpling back to the ground. She clutched the pendant convulsively in both hands.

_Sylvanas._ She never thought she'd hear that name again. Not to mention she'd thought she'd have her reaction much more under control than _this_. She shivered, throat working, eyes burning. _Sylvanas._

A tear splashing onto the dirty letters brought her back to reality—mostly. She staggered upright and moved back toward the main road in a daze. She traced the letters of her former general's name with one shaking finger—and remembered.

* * *

><p>She had been one of the youngest of the rangers of Silvermoon. Fresh out of training, Nia had been one of the more enthusiastic rookies. She'd gotten quite a reputation for running headlong into danger—and sometimes into thorn bushes. But as she laughed off the teasing of her elders, occasionally while picking sticks and leaves out of her clothes and hair, the girl had eyes for only one elf: the ranger-general.<p>

She worshipped Sylvanas, leaping to do her bidding when she gave any order, cherishing every compliment, every gesture of approval.

These were few and far between. While there were plenty of trolls, murlocs, and wild creatures to drive away from the tranquil forests of Quel'thalas, there were also plenty of rangers waiting on Sylvanas's every command. She had no reason to take notice of a young, green Farstrider.

Sylvanas was completely devoted to duty—and Nia had become completely devoted to her.

The girl was enchanted by those guileless blue eyes, the sardonic smile, and lithe movements. Such same-gender pairings existed among the rangers. Uncommon, but present. And the girls involved endured just as much teasing and lewd comments as the girls who preferred males.

None had dared to approach the ranger-general. No matter how much the older warriors gossiped no one had proof of where Sylvanas's interests lay.

On one memorable mission, Nia had been assigned to scout ahead into the troll enclave. She had shimmied up a tree and crept out on a limb above the trolls' camp. She had miscalculated; the branch cracked and dropped her right at the trolls' feet. The other Farstriders had no choice but to attack early and sloppily—and Nia could do nothing but curl into a protective ball and wait for it to be over.

When the dust had settled, she had relaxed, and looked straight up into Sylvanas's face. The general said nothing, but smiled thinly. Nia didn't think it was annoyance, but stifled good humor.

As soon as Sylvanas was out of earshot Nia clambered to her feet and made her announcement: _she_ would be the one to crack that emotionless shell. She would _earn_ the general's love.

She was mocked, taunted, of course. But she persisted, training endlessly, always honing her abilities. Within a few months she had more successful kills under her belt than any of her year-mates.

Sylvanas remained unmoved, unreachable.

Nia wasn't the one who'd spotted the Scourge tearing through the peaceful sylvan forests, but she had been one of the first to arrive on the scene. Abominations, their intestines hanging out, were the vanguard of the oncoming horde. Ghouls, skeletons, incorporeal shades—all trampled though the trees. The ground blackened beneath their feet, a blight spreading before them. Gargoyles fluttered overhead, and spider-like Nerubians chittered and hissed. In their midst rode the worst: A living human, done up in skull-motif armor, galloping along on his skeletal horse.

Nia stood in her cover, gaping at the army. A gentle touch on her shoulder made her look up into Sylvanas's worried face.

"Have they done anything unusual?" She whispered. "Still seem to be heading straight for Silvermoon?"

Nia nodded, throat closed, trying to come up with something witty to say.

The general narrowed her eyes at the host. "I'm moving down the line. Catch up when they're past your position. We can move much faster than they can, and they're no match for the full camp of Farstriders."

"Of course not. We'll get them." Nia murmured, and then began mentally berating herself. '_We'll get them? What was that?'_ But Sylvanas stood, and gave her a genuine, warm smile that took her breath away.

"Be safe," she said, and disappeared back into the undergrowth. Nia was left bubbling with happiness, that not even the gathering dead could touch.

* * *

><p>She found the other Rangers hours later, when the tail end of the vast army finally passed. Her optimism had evaporated. This was no skeletal raiding party, but a true invasion.<p>

Sylvanas was bent over a spindly table covered with maps, speaking earnestly to a young male elf. As Nia watched, he nodded acknowledgment and raced off in the direction of Silvermoon.

"Bravania, come here please," she called, and Nia's heart leapt.

"Yes, ranger-general?" She avoided those blue-blue eyes—no one else had eyes that blue, did they?—and inspected the map. Blue ink marked the elves' positions; red ink marked the monsters' trail, their camps, and their projected route to Silvermoon. Nia winced. There was a lot of red on that map. Way too much.

Sylvanas tapped a finger on a location just south of the Elrendar River. "The undead have entrenched themselves here. We're sending sorties, but they've been repelled every time. I've sent three runners to Silvermoon, and no response has come. I need you to lead a band of raiders to this estate." She indicated another spot, east of the main Farstrider camp, and near one of the many bridges spanning the river. "When the main attack comes, you will head straight for that bastard leading them. We will make a frontal assault at the same time, but that will mostly be a distraction. We're counting on you."

Nia looked up, shocked, and met the other's blue eyes through her curtain of golden hair. She smiled again, just for Nia. "Assemble your group and move out within—"

An animalistic roar cut her off. The scourge was surging into the rangers' encampment, slaughtering the few elves they caught off guard. Those who could were scrambling for weapons. Sylvanas flung herself into the fray with a blood-curdling war cry, cleanly striking the skull off the body of a skeleton. Nia leapt beside her, drawing her knife and disemboweling a ghoul. As what remained of the creature's insides spilled to the ground it made another grab for her. She hissed in disgust as she sliced through the ghoul's exposed spine. It folded with a frustrated gargle.

There was no time for breath; she spotted a skeletal mage conjuring a frostbolt, and charged. Out of the corner of her eye she saw others form a protective circle around the ranger-general. Sylvanas pulled her longbow from her back, aiming straight at the heart of the invasion force. Nia took the arms and head off her mage in a single, curved, stroke and turned.

Six or seven abominations held formation around the mounted leader. As she watched, Sylvanas's first arrow splintered the horse's exposed scapula. The horse gave an otherworldly shriek of pain, and its rider urged it forward with a curse. The pair plowed through the battle, trampling over Scourge and elves alike.

Sylvanas dived to the side as her protective circle scattered. "Fall back to the trees!" She called. All the Farstriders who were able disengaged from their current foes and fled, crossing over the bridge into the Eversong woods. They quickly vanished into the trees.

Nia sprinted for her general, twin knives a whirlwind in front of her. She cut down ghouls and skeletons, turning one dagger on a gargoyle that swooped down on her head. The creature fluttered lamely away, one wing shredded.

The older ranger was covering the retreat of two badly wounded women. The pair staggered away, supporting each other, and the ranger-general backed up, jabbing the pointed ends of her reinforced bow at any enemies that came too close.

Nia kicked a ghoul away and sprinted to the other elf's side. Sylvanas drew a knife on a snarling ghoul, and the girl turned, crouching defensively to defend her general's back. Not a moment too soon.

She caught the abomination's blade on crossed knives, grunting as the monstrosity bore down on her with its considerable weight. Sylvanas turned; a blur of movement and the huge arm dropped to the ground. Nia drew back just enough to plunge a dagger into its eye. It roared and staggered to its knees.

"Run!" Nia grabbed at the general's arm and shoved her, following as fast as she could run. They turned on the other side of the bridge, watching as the Scourge turned on the tents and buildings of the encampment. Ghouls crouched over slightly struggling forms on the ground, and all movement swiftly ceased.

The leader raised his sword, and called: "You cannot outrun the inevitable!" Sylvanas snorted. "You think I'm running from you? Apparently you've never fought elves before!" She raised her bow, neatly picked off two abominations from his side, and pulled Nia with her into the cover of the forest.

* * *

><p>A day later saw the elves pressed against the gates of Silvermoon itself. The Scourge army was a few minutes away, and Nia looked around with dismay. Barely a quarter of the Farstriders stood in ranks around them. Her own new position, on Sylvanas's direct right, was testament to how depleted their resources were. Nia looked up at the general.<p>

She stared into the forest, eyes hard, mouth set. She had an arrow nocked, and her fingers trembled on her bowstring.

Nia longed to reach out, to comfort her, but quelled the impulse. A glance around showed the same fear in every Rangers' eyes. She swallowed.

Any second now…

With a crash several ancient trees collapsed, twigs and leaves lashing the defenders' faces. Before the dust cleared abominations lumbered through, flinging hooks before them. Two Farstriders screamed as the metal impaled their bodies. Archers raised their bows, coating any visible targets with arrows.

Beneath the flailing hooks of the abominations the ghouls, shades, and skeletons charged. Knife fighters, at a nod from Nia, leapt into the fray. Sylvanas herself raised her bow, sending arrow after arrow into the more forbidding creatures of the host. Nia pulled out her small, wicked throwing knives. She picked her targets, most often sending gargoyles plummeting out of the sky.

She scanned the battle between throws, noting every elf that collapsed, torn apart by claws or singed by spells. Worst were the ones that fell to shades, crumpling without a mark on them but their terrified expressions.

The ghouls plunged into the ranks, breaking them into smaller squads that were shredded by the undead behind.

Sylvanas was faltering with each bleeding body that slumped over.

Only now did the death knight show himself, pacing forward on his warhorse. "Run!" The ranger-general pitched her voice to carry over the battle.

"We can't let them take Silvermoon! They mustn't reach the Sunwell! Hold your ground!" Nia called. The elves wavered, faced with choosing between death and duty.

Sylvanas whirled, physically knocking the girl to the ground. "Retreat! Now!" The rest of the force broke and ran, scattering into the trees. Nia shook her ringing head, clambering to her feet. "Bravania, go!"

The girl shook her head, drawing close-quarters blades and slashing quickly through an attacking corpse. She struggled to place herself between her general and the oncoming human.

"Now, girl! That's an order." She turned, met Sylvanas's wide-eyed gaze. Read the despair there.

Reluctantly she staggered back, and as the death knight approached them, turned and fled. As soon as she reached cover she halted, turning to watch as Sylvanas faced the attacker.

The ranger-general's lips moved—and she lowered her weapons.

Nia's breath deserted her. Her eyes were fixed on Sylvanas, who stood calmly, blue eyes on the face of her killer. Determination was written on her face, and her chest heaved visibly, but she didn't move a single inch. The warhorse reared, and as he came down, the rider ran his great-sword through Sylvanas's unprotected body.

Nia crumpled, gasping, trembling, feeling as if her chest was being crushed in a giant's grip. She couldn't breathe, couldn't even cry. She could hear the undead pressing forward. Masonry crumbling, flames crackling, she could do nothing to stop it. Darkness overtook her vision, and she blacked out as the first screams started.

* * *

><p>She awoke much later, coughing on thick smoke. She was surrounded by silence, broken only by occasional rustling leaves. She sat up, eyes watering from the fumes. Was there a forest fire? Had they burned out a nest of trolls?<p>

Pain lanced through sore muscles as she tried to stretch, and memory returned in a flash. She lurched to her feet, breath sobbing in her chest.

The Scourge were gone, leaving a blackened trail through Eversong. Slim bodies were scattered around the shattered gates, all mutilated beyond use even by the undead.

Of Sylvanas there was no sign. A splash of blood, bright red on the paving stones, was all that remained. Nia staggered down the slope, tears running unheeded down her cheeks.

'_No. No no no...' _ She couldn't believe it—wouldn't believe it. She couldn't be dead, she'd never let that happen. Not while she still needed to protect Silvermoon and the Sunwell. Nia collapsed beside the blood pool. Around her the stone was charred. Anything flammable had completely disintegrated.

And with it, Sylvanas's body. Nia looked down at her hands, shaking. '_If I hadn't run, she'd still be alive. I could have saved her and I ran like a frightened child.' _

Her grief built up, choking her throat, pounding in her ears, until she threw her head back and _screamed_. Screamed wordlessly at the unfeeling sky and stones around her. Screamed until her throat felt raw and torn. Screamed until no more sound escaped, just a pitiful whistling whine.

But none of it could ease the pain. Eventually she collapsed, on the spot the woman she loved had died, and prayed for death to take her as well.

* * *

><p>Nia was jolted out of her reverie when she stumbled over a loose stone in the road. She had reached the Dead Scar, the horrific wound in the forest left by the undead, seven years ago. Ahead of her the cobblestones were cracked and broken, and mindless zombies wandered aimlessly. Windrunner sat a few feet ahead of her, growling softly at any Scourge that dared come close. Apparently confidant that they were sufficiently warned, he turned his head to shoot an impatient glance at his mistress.<p>

Nia shook herself. She was still a Ranger of Silvermoon, and couldn't let herself get lost in contemplation like that. The town of Tranquillien lay ahead, across the scar and up a long slope. She wasn't going to be clearing out any more undead from Windrunner Spire, that was for sure; might as well go back and ask for a different assignment.

She lifted the necklace, gazing into the blue depths of the stone. It shook slightly from the trembling of her fingers. With a sigh she reached up, pulling the chain over her head and settling the pendant on her chest, over her heart. Then she obeyed her lynx's wordless summons, straightening her shoulders as she clambered over the broken ground.

**Please review, I'd love feedback! This is going to be a 2-3 chapter fic, and I will hopefully get the second installment out in a week or so.**


	2. Rebirth

**Sorry, I got distracted by embroidery...long story. But the next chapter is here, 2 of 3. The next chapter will have more interaction with the Banshee Queen, I promise.**

Bravania skirted around a ziggurat and turned left along the main road, sighing at the sight of the darkened forest on either side. This was once as beautiful and full of life as Eversong Woods. Now the woods were lifeless, with vampiric bats and scourged lynxes prowling between the trees. Parts of Eversong had been the same, right after the undead passed through.

* * *

><p>It was a day later when the other survivors found her, delirious with thirst and grief. She was placed in the priest-healers' care, along with the few other surviving rangers. None of the others were physically uninjured as she was, and none had her all-consuming guilt and grief.<p>

After a search it was pronounced that Sylvanas's body had been consumed by the fire that had destroyed half the city.

Most elves were useless, crippled by the loss of their arcane power. Nia and her fellow rangers did better, and returned to their beloved forest.

An ugly dead scar ran through the trees, and mindless skeletons wandered it. She had found Windrunner then, as a blind mewling cub beside the scar. In the year before she was pronounced fit for duty again she raised him, and he had fought by her side ever since.

The pair was unstoppable because of Nia's near-total disregard for her own skin. She had trained Windrunner specifically to flee to the nearest ranger should she fall in battle, which meant her last responsibility was gone.

She had a duty still, to Sylvanas's memory and all the other elves trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. But that didn't mean she couldn't die in the line of that duty. She threw herself into any battle without fear for personal safety, and she fought like a wildcat herself.

When the newly renamed "blood elves" started working on retaking the scourged Ghostlands she was among the first volunteers.

* * *

><p>Once again Nia shook herself out of her daze as she entered Tranquillien. Windrunner trotted closer to her side, fur rising over his shoulders. As she passed some of her fellow residents Nia felt her own lip curling in a sneer of distaste. These Forsaken with their rotting faces and bones poking through their skin—they were just disgusting. And the superior attitude they took all the time was enough to make any self-respecting elf ill.<p>

She clutched Sylvanas's trinket as she dodged sideways to avoid one of the undead as he emerged suddenly from a door to her right. She vaguely recognized him; the other Forsaken called him the Executer, or something equally morbid. He'd taken it upon himself to supervise the elves' reconstruction efforts.

"What do you have there, ranger?" She winced at the way air bubbled in his chest, and instinctively covered her find.

"Nothing," she muttered, speeding up in an effort to get away from him. He didn't take a hint, shuffling rapidly along behind her. She winced as his fleshless phalanges closed around her shoulder.

"Let's see it, elf." He demanded. Nia turned and glared at him, jerking her shoulder out of his grip in the same movement.

"Your precious Dark Lady hasn't any interest in it," she snapped. "It belonged to the ranger-general, and so the elves!"

To her surprise the Executer began laughing. A horrific gargling sound that seemed more like a death rattle.

"Why then of course she wants it! It is her property after all."

Bravania gave a gasp of rage. "Your Lady would _dare_ to presume—" the undead was doubled over with mirth now.

"That she would, seeing as our 'precious' lady and your 'precious' Sylvanas are one and the same," he cackled.

Nia's jaw dropped. "Do you think that's funny? Sylvanas burned, when your kind destroyed half our city. She would _never _allow herself to be taken!"

Every word seemed to amuse the Forsaken further. "I so enjoy every time I get to do this. She served the Lich King, elf. She helped him raze the Sunwell, part of his mindless host. She helped him slaughter countless innocents, further feeding his power. Your ranger-general was nothing more than another screaming shade."

_Crack._

The walking corpse landed flat on his tailbone, one cheek shattered. Nia stood over him, chest heaving with fury, fist raised to strike him again.

"_Never,_" She snarled, "She would _never._"

All frivolity gone, the Executer glared up at her, fingering the ruined side of his face. "It's all true, girl. The leaders of your naïve people decided it would cause a panic if they told you. They claimed she burned, but Arthas took her still-breathing body, raised her as a banshee, and sealed her body in an iron coffin."

Nia slowly lowered her arm, starting to shake. It couldn't be true. Sylvanas must have died instantly when he stabbed her. And surely even the fallen prince wouldn't be so audacious as to raise Sylvanas. Would he?

"She broke his will, after a few months. Found and repossessed her body. She helped others follow her, and thus created the Forsaken."

Nia shook her head violently, feeling her long ponytail whip against her cheeks. "You lie, filthy Scourge!"

"No need to be rude," he grumbled. "Go yourself. Give her back her trinket."

Nia turned away. "I will. High Executor, I request leave from my duties."

"Granted," he mumbled, clambering to his bony feet. "Take all the time you need. I'm sure Sylvanas would enjoy a juicy treat like you."

He ducked her half-hearted swing at his other cheek, leering at her. Nia stalked away toward the town's Dragonhawk Master, indignation in every line of her body.

* * *

><p>The late afternoon sun saw her climbing stiffly down from her mount, wincing as tense muscles protested. Windrunner produced an almost dog-like whine, wriggling against the straps holding him to the back of the flight saddle. Nia laid a comforting hand on his head, tugging at the buckles with the other.<p>

"The Alliance have gryphons. Nice, round gryphons. None of these stupid, skinny Dragonhawks…" she muttered.

The male elf holding her mount's head steady nodded agreement. "Right pain in the ass, aren't they?"

"Literally." Nia tapped Windrunner's nose, silently ordering him to keep still, and grunted as she lifted him down.

The elf winked at her flirtatiously, and turned to lead her blue-feathered mount away.

Nia hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders, checked her long knives, and brushed her fingers over Sylvanas's necklace. With a sigh, she trotted through the gates of the still whole half of Silvermoon.

It had been years since she'd set foot in the city. It still occasionally startled her to meet the sickly green gaze of the sadly depleted blood elves. She often jumped at her own reflection in the glazed windows, catching just a glimpse of her own shining green orbs. Windrunner stayed close, hackles rising at any creature that strayed too near.

The pair wound their way through the streets to the magnificent Sunfury Spire, bowing to the Royal Guards outside.

"Your business?" One asked, blocking her way with his ornate spear.

"I must speak to the Dark Lady." Nia replied, drawing herself up to stare down the other elf. Immediately the guard's partner dropped his spear as well.

"That is not permitted, I'm afraid." He informed her. Windrunner growled, not at all happy about these events, which he viewed as aggression toward his mistress. Nia stepped back, scowling.

"Why is that, exactly?" She asked, trying to hide the fact that her heart was pounding. Could the Executer have been telling the truth?

The guard glared at her. "No one may see the Dark Lady unless they have had an audience with her before." He replied contritely.

No, there had been plenty of high-ranking females among the Highborne—they could be trying to hide one of Kael'thas's advisors, or something.

Still…

She took a deep breath. "I have been informed of the Lady's identity and I wish to see for myself." Either that was reasonable enough or they could see the determination in her face, and knew if they didn't allow her passage she would just take the longer, overland route.

With exasperated sighs both males lifted their weapons, and Nia passed into the Sunfury Spire. She crept around the opulent silk hangings and plump feather cushions, noting with relief that the Regent and his magisters weren't holding court today.

Behind the ostentatious (now empty) throne, a ramp curved up to the room that housed the translocation sphere. The red-glowing crystal was linked directly to another one in Undercity; all that was required to use it was a simple touch. Distrustful of magic, as most Farstriders were, Nia had thus-far avoided the artifacts.

She unhooked a twisted rope from her belt, looping it around Windrunner's neck and tying the other end around her own wrist. With another steadying breath she laid both hands on the orb.

Immediately there was a sense of disorientation, as she seemed to be seeing two very different rooms layered one on top of the other. Then it felt as though the floor pitched her forward, and she stumbled as she landed on the other side.

The first thing she noticed was the light—much darker than the golden glow that permeated Eversong Woods. Next, the smell. Musty, with a putrid, sickly undertone, the smell of a city uninhabited for years.

She was standing on rough, cracked cobbles, at one end of a dark hallway. Windrunner crouched at her side, ears and fur flattened by nerves.

Taking a deep breath of the stagnant air, she paced forward. Through rotting wooden doors, a courtyard full of crazed, tipped gravestones. She turned through the main city gates, which hung crooked off their hinges. Past the smashed remnants of a great bell, and down a ramp.

She emerged into a throne room, where dust motes danced in shafts of light through the ruined ceiling. For some reason the chamber unsettled her, and she started across rapidly. In the middle, however, she stopped, tilting her head inquisitively. She could hear voices, just on the edge of hearing, conversing. Only the barest whispers, but more than enough to give her the shivers. She trotted quickly across the remaining distance. The next door way lead into a steeply sloping corridor, which ended at a wall guarded by a pair of burly orcs in spiked red-iron armor.

They completely ignored her as she stared at the wall, confused. It was blank, but for an ornate, bricked up doorway. "Um, excuse me—" She started to ask, when the inlaid door slid silently into the ceiling. The orcs didn't twitch, so she assumed this was a regular occurrence, and hurried through.

Round and doorless, the air in the room beyond had a sickly-sweet cast to it. The door slid shut behind her, and the platform floor dropped abruptly beneath her feet. She staggered when it came to a sudden halt about 20 feet down.

Another doorway slid open before her, and she scampered though it, quite unnerved. Another curving hallway, then Nia stopped in awe.

The heart of the Undercity lay before her, lit by lamps and the toxic green sewage that still bubbled underneath the floor. Corpses shambled everywhere, watched intently by more orc sentries. A few other living creatures meandered through, representatives of the various other Horde races.

And there was no sign of any Dark Lady. Nia looked around, completely disoriented. How anyone could find anything in this circular room…

There. A sign. A wooden board, with a decaying human arm nailed to the wall below it, pointing the way to "The Royal Quarter." Gruesome, but probably the best place to start.

With one hand on Windrunner's head, the elf followed the bony fingers' directions. Down, out to the outer ring of the city, across a bridge over a river of the stinking sludge. Down a hallway guarded not by orcs, but by ferocious looking undead, who leered at her behind the face-guards of their helms.

At last, out into another round chamber, with a raised podium at its center. Nia immediately dropped her gaze. She was so close, but she was too scared. She couldn't look. If it was Sylvanas…if it wasn't…she didn't know which would be worse.

Instead she scanned the room at floor level, noting the various undead and orcs who peered curiously at her and her pet.

"Who is this?" The voice resonated in Nia's bones, feminine, but deep. And malicious. She shivered, refusing to raise her eyes until she heard light footsteps approaching the edge of the dais.

A male blood elf peered down at her, typical arrogant expression of the Highborne nobility twisting his features. "Speak your business, elf." He ordered

Nia glared. She was just as blue-blooded as any other elf could claim to be, with most of the population dead or mad with need for arcane power. "I wish an audience with the Dark Lady." She stated, noting with frustration that beneath her posturing her voice still trembled.

The blood elf chuckled, made a movement as if to shoo her away. The echoing voice interrupted him. "No. She may approach."

Suddenly she didn't particularly want to, but that voice would not be denied. Eyes on her feet Nia shuffled around to the stairs up to the raised platform. Windrunner made to follow, then screeched as one of the royal guards grabbed him by the scruff. "Shhh" Nia ordered him, though her heart twisted to leave him there. The lynx subsided, giving her a look of extreme broken trust.

Feeling very vulnerable without her pet, Nia turned back to the steps. At the top she turned, still refusing to raise her gaze. The voice gave a cold cackle. "Look at me, girl." She ordered. Nia slowly looked up.

Unlike most undead the woman's body was perfectly preserved, skin flawless, muscles still tight underneath, though her flesh was grey and bloodless. Even standing still she had an air of boneless, catlike grace. A few golden locks of hair curled from under her dark hood and her eyes, once so blue, glowed bloody crimson. Even with all the differences there could be no mistake.

It was Sylvanas

**Hooray for necessary boring filler chapters. The next, final part should be up quicker than this. Please review, I'd like any feedback you have for me.**


	3. Redemption

**Last chapter. It's somewhat song-fic ish with Lament of the Highborne. I highly recommend you find it on Youtube, with the video Blizzard made for it a few years ago. I found it unfortunately late at night, and that's what spawned the plot bunny that became this fic. **

"What do you want, girl?"

Nia was jolted out of her shocked silence by the words, impatient and half-snarled. "I found this trinket, ranger-general…" she whispered, reaching up and lifting the necklace over her own head.

Sylvanas's face had frozen in a grimace at the sound of her old title. She reached out one hand, snatching the thin silver chain from Nia. The elf stumbled back, shaking, staring at the familiar, changed face. Sylvanas twisted the pendant, eyes narrowing as she read the back. With a hiss she flung it down on the stones at her feet.

Nia yelped, both at the clatter and from shock. She looked up at her ranger-general, horror written plainly on her face. Sylvanas raised a foot as if to crush the trinket, but hesitated, glaring at Nia with such ferocity that the younger woman collapsed to her knees.

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded, voice rising with each syllable. "Did you think this…this piece of trash would somehow please me?"

Nia hunched into herself more with each word, biting her lip hard to prevent tears. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't her Sylvanas. This—creature—may have worn her body, but it didn't even begin to imitate her.

She was pacing now, still shouting in that vibrating tone. "I want nothing to do with that past! Nothing! I am the Dark Lady. A _banshee._ A _monster!_ I have no need for sentiments. Look at me!"

Nia started, obeying without thought. A sob shook her body as she met the Lady's eyes. Sylvanas raised a hand as if to strike her, and she didn't flinch. She could see something in those crimson-glowing eyes. Some emotion, though she couldn't read what it was. This meant there was some chance this _was_ her Sylvanas, and that she had caused pain on some deep level. As such she deserved any punishment she received.

Sylvanas trembled for a moment. Her eyes flashed with hatred, and Nia felt a single tear escape to roll down her cheek. The Lady slowly lowered her hand, twisting her head to look at the pendant sparkling innocently on the floor. Moving as if in a trance she stepped over to it, bending to pick it up and run colorless fingers over the inscription. The bloody glow of her eyes dimmed slightly, and her hand closed over the gem. The banshee queen shook, face twisting between several different emotions. Anger, sadness, even fear crossed her features, before she seemed to come to a decision.

She bent her head, muttering an incantation. The gem, her hands, even her eyes began to glow with a pure white, arcane fire. Sparks flew behind her, swirling and coalescing into the forms of ethereal Highborne spirits. Then, to the clear astonishment of everyone in the room, she lifted her clear glowing hands, threw back her head—and began to sing.

_Anar'alah, anar'alah belore,_

_Sin'dorei,_

Throughout the room the various representative members of the Horde turned to gape at the queen, even orcs stunned by the otherworldly notes

_Shindu fallah na._

_Sin'dorei,_

_Anar'alah,_

Nia slowly straightened, still kneeling, staring in wonder. The apparitions added their own sweet counterpoints to the song, but above them all rose Sylvanas's haunting, perfect voice.

_Shindu sin'dorei,_

_Shindu fallah na._

_Sin'dorei,_

The banshee's song rippled through the Undercity, moving even the undead. The few living in the place—mostly blood elves—sat down where they were and cried.

_Anar'alah belore_

The queen knelt as the spirit's wailing voices rose in volume, weaving into their own complex melodies. She held one hand out to Nia, who still crouched on the floor. "Do not kneel to me, my ranger," she whispered. Nia started, but stood, a shaky smile spreading across her lips. Sylvanas returned it, before raising a hand to quiet her spirits, and continuing her song.

_Shindu sin'dorei,_

_Shindu fallah na._

_Sin'dorei_

Nia was caught in the magic of the song, along with every creature within hearing, living and dead. Suddenly she felt the despair, agony, and terror of that long ago day, as fresh as though it had only just happened. Seasoned orc warriors wept at the force of the emotions pouring from the Lady.

_Anar'alah belore,_

_Belore._

The last note echoed into silence, and the spirits vanished as if blown away by the wind. The entire city lay silent. All present in the throne room were fixated on Sylvanas, who dropped her head as though suddenly exhausted.

Nia stepped forward, laying a hand on her shoulder. Her skin was cold, dry and soft, like doe-skin. The male blood elf who had wanted to shoo her away gave a little gasp—of fear or outrage it was hard to tell. Sylvanas didn't react, still as death.

Several tense moments passed before the Lady spoke. "Leave us," she ordered. "All except the girl, get out!"

Her orders were followed immediately, every being rushing for the door. The orc still holding Windrunner hauled the protesting lynx out too.

Sylvanas nodded to her elite Deathguards. "Keep everyone, including yourselves, out of sight and hearing." They saluted, shepherding the stragglers out the doorway.

Leaving Bravania alone with Sylvanas.

For a long moment the ranger-general didn't speak, staring off into the distance. Nia slowly dropped her hand, worried that she had offended the queen. At last Sylvanas's eyes refocused and she began to pace.

It was probably wrong to be considering it, but even in death the general's grace invoked a tingle in the elf. The crimson light from her eyes flared and dimmed at intervals, and finally she wheeled to face the ranger.

"Why did you come here? The representatives of the Blood Elves informed me that they told you I was killed, and made no mention of my…undeath."

Nia nodded, throat working as she tried to swallow several conflicting emotions. Horror and grief at this reminder of her general's death, absolute elation that at least a part of her survived, odd emptiness at finding this bloodless shell, with only a small resemblance to the Highborne elf. She looked up to meet Sylvanas's eyes, and took an involuntary step backward. That red glow could be quite unsettling when it was directed at you.

"I did recognize you, Bravania. I knew you the moment you entered my chamber. You were such a promising young ranger. I admit, I'd hoped you survived." Sylvanas took a step forward. Nia backed up again, wordlessly. "Of course, you weren't among the ranks of my Dark Rangers, but I feared that you were slain and raised as a mindless ghoul or shade."

Nia stepped back again, and her heel landed on nothing but air. She'd reached the edge of the raised central platform. Sylvanas continued to approach, at a slow leisurely pace, like a hunting cat that has spotted wounded prey.

"Why did you come here, girl? Why return my necklace? I'm dead, I've no use for such things."

Nia swallowed, finally finding her voice. "The undead…he told me who you were. I had to see for myself."

Sylvanas stopped barely a foot away from her, looking down at her ranger's ducked head. Feeling cool breath on her hair Nia looked up abruptly. In life she'd been only a few centimeters taller than the girl; now by some quirk of undeath the general towered almost a head over her.

"Are you satisfied?" she whispered. Nia was captivated, but gave the tiniest of nods, blinking back more tears. She recognized the beginning of a dismissal when she heard it.

Sylvanas turned away, walking back toward the center of her platform. "Go then. South of the Ghostlands there is no place for the living. Return to your people—"

"No!" Nia burst out.

Sylvanas turned back to her, clearly startled. "What?"

Nia scuffed one foot on the floor, but looked straight back at her. "No. I tried…I wanted to follow you. For seven years, I've tried." She gulped down a sob as Sylvanas's eyes widened in realization. "I wanted to die too. But…but you would never have neglected your duty. So I had to keep fighting, but every enemy I faced, I hoped I wouldn't come out stronger." She dropped her gaze, ashamed. "And then I heard you were…here, and I had to come. I can't stand to lose you again."

Now she glanced up, gauging Sylvanas's reaction. The Banshee Queen looked torn, shifting from foot to foot. "You know what the Forsaken have done—what I have done—don't you? We're recreating the Scourge's plague, we've taken Lordaeron for the dead. I've turned my back on the Alliance, and I only grudgingly serve the Horde. What is there for you here?"

"You!" Nia cried, head snapping up. Finally she had to say it. Finally she could admit it. "You! I loved you! I still love you! For seven years I would do anything to have you back. Now you are, and I'm not leaving you again."

Sylvanas backpedaled, stepping hurriedly back from the young ranger. "You don't understand what you're doing, girl." She snapped. "As long as you live you may not join me."

Nia took a deep breath. She thought momentarily of Windrunner, but pushed the thought away. "You have Valkyr raising new Forsaken, don't you? Let me go to them then. I will serve in your Dark Rangers."

"No!" Sylvanas snapped, "I don't exactly take volunteers for the undead! I can't ask anyone to make that sacrifice!"

"You aren't asking me. I'm choosing to," Nia whispered. "I said it before, and you are choosing to ignore it. I love you, and I'm never leaving you again." For a moment she thought she'd gone too far. The general's eyes blazed red again, and she strode forward.

"You have no idea what you are saying, what you're doing. And I will not allow you to do this."

"Why?" Nia demanded, cold inside. She thought Sylvanas might have returned her feelings, that maybe the ranger-general would be glad to see her. Once again, Sylvanas stopped within a foot of the girl, and Nia craned her neck to look up at her.

"You can't stop me." She whispered. She was holding back tears with difficulty. "And you keep ignoring the point. I would, and still will, do anything for you. Anything."

Cold dry fingers gently gripped her chin, further tilting her face up. "And there are some things I can't allow you to do." Sylvanas said, just as softly. "For much the same reasons."

Nia's breath hitched as the Dark Lady leaned down and their lips met, cold dead pressed to trembling living. She simply shook momentarily before flinging herself into the kiss. Sylvanas pulled her closer, lips parting slightly.

Nia was slightly put off for a moment, feeling with a jolt the lack of pulse in the mouth that was now devouring her own, the lack of heartbeat in the Dark Lady's body. But the feeling was banished as Sylvanas tightened her arms around her, and a moan forced its way out.

At last she was whole, protected, _safe_. For the first time in seven years she completely relaxed, melting into the embrace.

At last Sylvanas pulled away, earning a little gasp of disappointment from the blood elf. "I heard about your little…announcement, in the troll camp," she murmured, still close enough that her musty breath stirred Nia's hair. The elf flushed, looking away in embarrassment.

"I kept an eye on you after that, wondering just how you intended to go about it. I've had males try it before, though they seemed to think I would love them if they put down everyone else to make themselves look better. You, though, you proved yourself by _improving_ yourself. I sometimes wondered if…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "I was going to promote you anyway, just before the Scourge attack. And when I did, I was going to tell you that you had done it. You did earn my love through your efforts."

Nia smiled shakily. "Well, I hadn't expected to earn it by falling out of trees."

Sylvanas laughed, bending to kiss her once more. "Now, my ranger," she whispered, pulling back just enough that her moving lips tickled against Nia's. "I have a proposition for you. You were clearly willing to die for me. Are you willing to live for me as well?"

Nia nodded emphatically. "Only…don't ask me to leave you again."

Sylvanas shook her head, a ghost of her old, gentle smile on her face. "I have a better idea than you joining my Dark Rangers. You will be my personal guard. I don't entirely trust my undead of late, nor can I truly trust the other races of the Horde. You, however, I will most certainly trust with my life."

Nia opened her mouth to respond with a resounding 'yes', when another concern occurred to her. "Would I be allowed to keep Windrunner?" She asked anxiously. "My lynx," she explained in response to Sylvanas's quirked eyebrow.

The Dark Lady chuckled. "A good name. Yes, though obviously you are expected to keep him under control."

Nia straightened, annoyed that drawn up to her full height her eyes were still only level with Sylvanas's chin. "Then yes, I accept. I will protect you with my life, Lady Sylvanas."

She was silenced by a single finger pressed to her lips. "As such, you will obey any order I give without question. I cannot be troubled by the conscience of the living. Lordaeron belongs to the undead now, or it will in the near future, so you must trust my judgment. Do you swear to this?"

Nia didn't think before kneeling, bowing her head and allowing her long elfin ears to droop. "I swear loyalty to you, and you only, and to trust your judgment in all matters." It was the pledge of loyalty given by any blood elf soldier when taken on by a new noble master. Nia shivered as she said the words, feeling that this oath held more power than one made to a fellow elf.

"I accept. You may rise, Bravania." She obeyed, finding herself swept into another hard, possessive kiss. "We should introduce you to my little court then, shouldn't we?"

Nia nodded, breathless and warm from the kisses. Sylvanas grinned and clapped her hands once. The cracking sound, doubtless magically amplified, boomed around the chamber and up the stone hall way. Immediately the two Deathguards trotted back, followed at a more sedate pace by the rest of the rooms' previous occupants. The orc guard maintained his grip on Windrunner, loosening it only when Sylvanas fixed him with a cold stare.

Nia whistled through her teeth to call her pet, and he trotted up the stairs to join her. He purred, rubbing his head against her hand as she scratched behind his ears. When Sylvanas tried to touch him, however, he jerked away with a snarl. Nia tapped his nose sharply, glancing apologetically at Sylvanas.

The Dark Lady shrugged. "Animals tend to dislike the undead," she commented. "You may want to make it clear you intend to stay, though. Here comes the emissary from Silvermoon."

The male elf from earlier was indeed climbing the steps toward them, looking quite unhappy. Nia moved back to stand to the right and a little behind Sylvanas, pulling her bow from her back and stringing it with one smooth motion. Seemingly stunned by this insolence he gaped at her.

The Dark Lady herself peered down at him like he was a bug she intended to squash. "Do you have something to say?" she asked, voice cold and utterly emotionless.

"No, Dark Lady," he muttered, shooting one last poisonous look at Nia before retiring to the side of the platform.

"Now, Apothecary," Sylvanas called, gesturing to a slight, stooped Forsaken. He trotted up to her, bowing deeply, shaking slightly. "Yes, Dark Lady?"

Nia was surprised at the absolute deference that the undead gave to Sylvanas. She had never demanded blind obedience like this from her rangers. She fell into an at-ease position behind Sylvanas, trying not to eye her back doubtfully.

"We must discuss the deployment of the new plague in Hillsbrad. We must maximize the casualties in Southshore…" Nia jerked to attention in shock.

Sylvanas's face was cold and hard, and Nia swallowed reflexively. She'd hoped for a moment, but now it was clear. This was not her ranger-general. Windrunner growled again, and she laid a hand on his head to quiet him. Even so, she felt like growling too.

She'd found everything she had ever wanted: Sylvanas was back, and she returned her affections. But now she was realizing that she had no idea what she'd gotten herself into.

**And that's it. Thank you everyone for reading, and hopefully reviewing. I always love feedback on my writing, positive or not. I'm considering making a sequel, depending on the reaction I get. Please review if you favorite, I have a lot people doing one or the other, but not both. Those of you who have reviewed with or without favoriting, you are my favorite people in the world! **


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